Hiro's Lost Scrolls: Heroes Ficlet Collection
by paynesgrey
Summary: This is a collection of short, often 100-500 word drabbles and ficlets from the TV series Heroes, with a varity of characters, themes and pairings.
1. Whatever He Wants

**Title:** Whatever He Wants  
**Characters/Pairings:** Elle, Peter, Elle's Daddy  
**Warnings:** None  
**Spoilers:** Up to "Fight or Flight"  
**Notes:** Written for Heroes100 "Not in Control" challenge at Livejournal.

**Summary:** Elle isn't too happy about not finding Peter.

Her jaw clenched, and she gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.

She was so close she could feel the charge of energy at her finger tips, tasting the glory of his inevitable submission. Peter was her prize, but now they were stopping her.

She scoffed, and despite her vigorous searching, she knew she wasn't at the helm of this game.

"Whatever you say, Daddy," she cooed to herself as the car started.

Elle's eyes darkened with determination. She would get Peter Petrelli, but until then, she'd play by the rules.

Because whatever Daddy wanted, Daddy would get.


	2. Plateau

**Title:** Plateau  
**Challenge:** 002 -- "Typical"  
**Characters/Pairings:** Niki, slight Niki/Nathan  
**Rating:** G  
**Word Count:** 100  
**Spoilers/Notes:** Spoilers for "Out of Time". Written for heroes100 "Typical" challenge on Livejournal.

His soft fingers caressed her cheek. He looked at her with remorse, and he watched her with a rare compassion that she didn't think she deserved.

She closed her eyes. She was going to die soon. She would join D.L. and lose Micah. She would lose the chance to start another life, just when things were getting better.

Death sighed in her ear, clawing at her plateaued fate.

She met Nathan's eyes again, and his pity quickly melted in her veins as fast as the virus. She would lose everything, and any hope she had would just typically fade away.


	3. Hot For Doctor

AN: Done for heroes contest on LJ for the theme "Right and Wrong". Monica/Mohinder. Canon. Rated PG.

* * *

Hot for Doctor

Monica pursed her lips together and took a deep breath.

They were just _friends_, and it had to stay that way. And as his friend, she had to deter her thoughts away from the temptation to seduce him.

It was the _right_ thing to do.

And by God, she wasn't much of a seductress anyway, and even having thoughts of accosting the poor doctor seemed sinful to her.

Mohinder Suresh was not 'some guy' she could just fantasize about, hoping down the line there'd be something more. He was helping her develop her abilities – giving her a purpose in life.

Not to mention he was much older than she was, and he probably thought she was just a kid. She was just another statistic with amazing abilities to further his father's research.

"Why don't you try this one?" He handed her a DVD. She took it from his hand, and he eagerly watched her reaction. She glanced at the title and scrunched her brow in curiosity.

"The Art of Kathakali, a Traditional Indian Dance?" She felt her cheeks go hot. _He wants me to dance_? she thought.

Mohinder cleared his throat and smiled confidently. She wondered if he had noticed her obvious embarrassment, and she felt silly for trying to find an implication in his request.

"Yes. I thought you'd like a reprieve from martial arts and gymnastics. This is something that obviously requires a great deal of control, but I thought it could also be recreational and meditative." He paused, and the air between them suddenly felt heavy and awkward. He tapped the DVD case with his finger and began to drone on about the significance behind the dance. "The Kathakali is a very refined Indian dance; it originates to the courts of Kerala, and is approximately three centuries old. Typically, dancers wear beautiful costumes and elaborate makeup, singing Sanskrit text from epics and mythologies."

Monica stared at him dumbfounded, and once again she was mesmerized by the way Mohinder explained things. His didactic babble with that thick accent became something of an aphrodisiac to her, rather than some typical boring lecture.

"Th—Thanks, Dr. Suresh," she said, smiling softly. He nodded, and she couldn't resist adding to his enthusiasm.

"Do you want me to try it out right now? You could watch." She purred, as she leaned her body slightly closer to him, teetering on the edge of his personal space.

Mohinder's smile faltered momentarily and it was her turn to play on supposed implications. Monica smiled brightly and tugged his sleeve, directing them both into the Company lounge with the large screen TV.

"Of course…" he stuttered, following behind her dutifully. She surmised he didn't expect her to try out the video with him, and he probably assumed she'd learn on her own time for relaxation.

Monica inwardly scoffed. Where was the fun in that?

To put her initial fears to rest, she knew that flirting with the clueless geneticist was definitely the wrong thing to do.

So then why did she want to do it even more?

END


	4. Gross Attempt

**Characters/Pairings:** Claire, Zach  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 266  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** early Season One, descriptions of gore  
**Notes:** Written for "Split" for heroes contest at Livejournal.  
**Summary:** Zach will never get used to seeing her put her body back into place.

Gross Attempt

It was her fourth attempt, and as Zach watched her get up with broken bones and open gashes, he still felt horrified every time.

"Did you get that on tape?" she asked, unfazed. He nodded slowly, his expression frozen in surprised disbelief. She sighed heavily and peered up where she descended, planning to jump again. He watched her tending herself carefully, and he almost retched from the sounds of her bones snapping back into place and the gooey flesh mending over muscles. He looked at her face, bruised and blooded from scrapes. His eyes traveled from her split lip to the top of her hairline, soaked in blood. He gasped as he spotted another injury she did not catch.

Zach grimaced. "Uh, Claire?" He pointed to her forehead, where a small section of hair and flesh had been scrapped off her scalp. She must have banged her head on the metal and skinned herself before tumbling down.

Claire looked up and then lightly placed the skin back into its original spot, letting her healing powers take over. Zach winced as he watched her, and he felt like he'd never get used to seeing her do that.

"Shall we go again?" she asked; apparently, her emotions had already transcended the obvious gore factor. Zach swallowed an awkward lump.

"Sure, why not? I think there's still some areas on your body you haven't mangled yet." Claire gave him a warning look.

"No commentary, just shoot," she said, stomping back up the metal stairs. Zach watched her squeamishly and was thankful he skipped lunch that day.


	5. Loneliness, My Old Friend

**Characters:** Claude, Peter  
**Rating:** G  
**Word Count:** 356  
**Notes/Spoilers:** Season One Spoilers, written for the "Forever" challenge at heroes contest on Livejournal.

**Summary:** Nothing lasts forever, Fate would say.

Loneliness, My Old Friend

The loneliness had always been chilling, and he could feel it in his bones like a sub-zero day in a New York winter. Though, he knew better than anyone that his life had to be this way.

It took some getting used to, but he actually enjoyed not interacting with people. Yet, sometimes he felt he was going crazy.

Paranoia was his favorite common emotion. It beat loneliness any day. Sometimes it felt like forever before the feelings subside. He had good reason to feel this way.

They _were_ after him, and if he dared to assume they thought he was dead, well, he might as well have offered himself to the chopping block already.

But when the loneliness set in, paranoia would fade into the back, and damn it all, he would miss it. So, he'd steal a bottle of something hard and fiery, and then loneliness would go away. His friends Jack and Jim and Johnny would assure him: "You don't need people."

Soon, things changed. He never thought anything in his life would ever change. He was quite content to live away from people forever.

"Hey! Hey, you there!" He was just a boy, and it was surprising and exasperating that he could even see Claude.

_Bloody empaths_, he thought. With just one look at him, Claude knew in those old, frigid bones he'd have to give up loneliness and solitude to help him. Fate was laughing at him, and he wanted to punch the upstart in the face.

And when Peter Petrelli begged for his help, Claude couldn't say no.

He had to let go of loneliness for now, but he was content to keep the paranoia. Peter Petrelli and his myriad powers caused him to be afraid just a little more. His former employers would love to find a way to exploit him, which made his help both imperative and risky.

At least he wouldn't be alone, and for Peter's sake, Claude was okay with that.

Whenever the empath smiled at him hopefully, Claude knew that nothing that felt this good lasted forever. Loneliness would no doubt call on him again.


	6. Cute

AN: Matt/Audrey. Written for the "Surprise" challenge at heroes contest on LJ.

Cute

_Cute. _

She thought he was cute.

_Thought_ being the key word here. He felt somewhat guilty; he never meant to grab the statement from her head, but if such thoughts hadn't been on the surface he would have never made her feel so uncomfortable.

Of course, not hearing the admission would have taken the brightness out of his day, and since Janice's confession, he had precious little of those kinds of days lately.

Not even his own wife had called him cute. _Ever._ It wasn't the sort of word many men had felt too proud about. It was a girly statement, meant more for puppy love and sweet sixteen courting.

Regardless, he felt good about it. He had precious little to feel good about. He'd been bemoaning his looks lately, and he was more than aware of his lack of physical prowess, and usually, the bad guys and traffic violators he'd caught recently readily got in that extra jab of 'you're letting yourself go, Poppie'.

He'd been even more mortified when Janice had caught him flexing and grabbing his belly in the mirror before getting ready for work one morning.

She frowned, and sympathy was evident in her eyes. "Do you want to join me on my jog to the park when you get off work?" The intention in her question was more obvious than subtle.

Since then, his days had become just a little less lively; hunger pains plagued him as he fended off those delicious Krispy Kremes laid out in the front lobby at the station.

To hear Audrey call him 'cute' was a pleasant surprise. As unattainable as she was in his present situation, he let his own thoughts run wild at the possibilities. She was spunky, funny, and well-toned in the legs and torso. He scoffed at the inevitable guilt he felt about fantasizing about another woman and rationalized that his wife had done much worse.

"Cute," she had said, and the memory of her slightly flushed skin and obvious embarrassment sent a ripple of satisfaction through his body.

He couldn't help surmising that a lot of his days got better with Audrey around. Knowing she was attracted to him was definitely a surprising bonus.


	7. Promise

AN: Angela/Victoria, written for the "Vows" challenge at Heroes Contest on Livejournal.

Promise

She makes promises into her ear, and the words roll off the shell lightly. She feels her wise hands roll over her body, caressing lines over her own maturing skin. She closes her eyes and soaks in the words.

Victoria feels Angela Petrellli smile against her.

It may have been a kiss. It may have been a bite. Victoria doesn't really know because she's too far caught up in this daze, and it feels more than good – more than surreal.

Angela cups her jaw, and those dark eyes peer into hers. Doubt washes away as she feels more and more of the woman's touch.

How could she not trust her now? Her mind is filled with her, and she knows nothing but Angela Petrelli's word.

--

Morning comes, and Victoria leaves the shotgun for the first time back at home while she goes for kindling for the upcoming winter.

She walks halfway down the path and hears the birds rustle in the forest. She senses their panic, and she knows herself how unease really feels.

How many years has she lived with this fear? Originally, she thinks today is different. There has to have been enough time by now.

And Angela Petrelli can't break her vow. She just _can't._

She hears owls hooting and clamoring in the distance.

Victoria clutches the fine pile of timber to her chest and sprints back to the house.

--

Angela feels the trickle of blood stream out her nose. She can taste it, but it doesn't bother her. The recent pain in her head begins to dull slowly before he digs and burns into her brain again.

She glares at her opponent, eyes tight with the fury of revenge. She just wishes she could touch him – show him exactly what she can do. Yet, she waits.

Angela remembers the days of life and death promises and feminine flesh sliding together.

She just can't let the telepath win.

--

Victoria can sense distress in the air. She hears the cry of nature reeling from unnatural intruders.

She picks up her shot gun and loads her pockets up with ammo. She quietly moves out the back door of her house and looks up at the graying sky.

Strange voices sound like ghosts within her sanctuary. Her heart breaks just a little as a dark haired woman's image flashes in her head.

Then, she heads down the stoop to the flowerbed and sits down and begins to weave her hands through the dirt. Sighing, she waits for her inevitable guests.

END


	8. No Choice

AN: Written for the "Brutal" Challenge at Heroes Contest at Livejournal.

No Choice

When it comes to Matt Parkman, Daphne knows nothing she can say will convince him to give up on her.

"In the future we were married. We had a family." His voice is soft, yet stern, as if he keeps saying it over and over it'll come true anyway, and she'll just give in, but she can't believe it. She knows he's being honest, but whatever future he's seen may not exist anymore. Still, she can't help thinking for a quick moment how amazing a future like that would be.

He doesn't understand that she's a thief. He won't just get a clue and realize she's not on his side. He's just not powerful enough to beat Arthur Petrelli.

Daphne gives in to him, but not really. Matt will probably find out eventually, but until then, she lets him remain blissfully unaware to her schemes.

If only he really could save her from how truly scared she is. But Daphne can't be on the losing side. She can only hope that this sweet, somewhat daft, guy survives.

They move on, together, toward Pinehearst side by side. Some time during a long extensive ride on the freeway, Matt Parkman drops his hand on her knee and squeezes. He looks at her reassuringly with a hopeful smile.

"You don't have to worry. If you need to keep up this game for Arthur's sake, it's okay with me."

Daphne gasps, feeling the same fear and shame in her chest when she saw his father murdered before her eyes. She slowly turns to him agape, and he taps his finger to his head. Matt Parkman isn't so daft after all. She slumps in her seat. "It's not what you think."

He looks forward as they near the Pinehearst facility, and his confident smile returns. "Whatever you need to do, just promise me you'll stay alive. That's all that matters to me." He's not looking at her, and Daphne has to fight back stupid, unwanted tears.

It sucks how much this guy already affects her.

"I can't promise anything," she says, because she really can't. His promise doesn't contain his safety either. She can't let him be a sacrifice.

She chokes back the emotion and looks forward, avoiding his gaze. "I wish you could just give up and understand me."

"But the future…" he stammers before she stops him again.

"Look, forget about that stuff, okay? This is serious!" Daphne says, and she shudders when she remembers Arthur Petrelli, looming over her in like a shadow in the back of her mind.

"Alright," he says, letting it go too easily. Daphne looks over and sees his expression, and she wishes for a moment she could trade powers and see what's inside his head.

But she can already guess. Matt Parkman won't give her up, and she feels she has no choice but to betray him. To her, it feels more brutal than Arthur Petrelli thrusting his hand through her chest and ripping out her heart.


	9. Monster

AN: Written for the "Distance" theme at heroes contest on Livejournal. Sylar/Claire implied.

Monster

For normal little girls, the monster lives under the bed, and he lives in fairytales and in the movies that parents forbid them to watch. And when the morning comes, the monster is gone from under the bed, disappearing and fading with the shadows. The book closes, and the monster in fairytales stays trapped inside. The movie ends and fades to black when the heroes have defeated him.

But for special little girls like Claire, the monster does not disappear into the shadows and is never defeated. The hero can run a sword through his head or leave him to burn in an explosion of flames, yet he never dies and rises from the ashes and pulls the sword through his head only to come back – smiling and stalking menacingly, looking for his claim as if no harm to him has ever been done.

All monsters have a claim on one little girl – one he will never let go, one that will push him into an obsession, to follow her until her very last breath on his skin.

And because he has claimed her, he can find her in her thoughts and dreams. He chases her like the wolf in the woods, giving her a sneak peek for what's to come.

Suddenly, she wakes up and cries in a frantic breath, confused and allured by the smoldering heat that lingers underneath her clothes. His breath still lingers on the shelf of her ear, and within that quick thought, she snaps her head and rubs her ear on her shoulder, wiping and scrubbing like a tainted and itchy sore that never scabs over.

Then, she hears his haunting voice, and the shadows in her room seem wide and expansive - billowing out into the darkest distance.

She closes her eyes and can see his face as clearly as the day she thought she killed him. She knows she'll see him again. The monster lives because she lives. The string that connects them will never snap.

The wind scrapes the branches outside her room. It bangs against the window pane like an unwelcome moan. Her room feels crowded. The floor boards squeal just a few breaths beside her.

Claire knows she's not alone.

"Sylar." It's the words of the calm before the storm. She knows he likes the way it expels through her teeth like a hot ragged sigh. Always.

Her monster returns for her, just as she's forever known he would.

END


	10. Red Angel

AN: Written for the prompt "colors" at heroescontest on Livejournal. Angela/theHaitian

Red Angel

He is plagued with so many alien memories that sometimes he cannot hold onto his own. But he remembers the important ones, like the rich color of green in his homeland of Haiti, or the black chaos and suffering inflicted on his people.

And he remembers _her_, and how she helped him in his darkest hour.

Mostly he remembers her tragic nature. She appears to him understanding and strong, but underneath he can see her fragility. He does not try to change her. He does not see it as a terrible flaw. When he reveals this to her, she does not break down in his arms and cry like the women in his village would.

She straightens her shoulders, smiles, and meets her deep eyes with his. It is a pact of understanding.

The first memory of her is vivid. He remembers her nails, so perfectly shaped and colored deep red like the fresh blood that soaks the land of his fallen people. To compare Angela Petrelli to blood is no coincidence. She herself has a fair amount of blood on her hands.

But he does not judge her for it.

He does not scorn her or refuse her when she first takes him to her bed, a young man rescued from the bleeding homeland, trying to find meaning in the gifts God gave him.

Angela Petrelli gives him meaning. Her blood-red nails rake over his back, and he shivers and his muscles tense from her first touch. He looks at her, finding their shared understanding in her eyes as she settles him down against the white sheets. He sees the sharp contrast of his skin against the white, and he looks to the ceiling and hears the shuffling her clothes beside him. The weight on the bed shifts, and he closes his eyes.

She gives him a home here, and as she slides against him, her skin is as warm as Haiti at sunrise. He feels her nails over his chest, and allows himself to breathe evenly.

He already owes her so much – an amount so large he could never fulfill for as long as God allows him to live. He accepts her when she moves against him.

Because he knows, his place is here, always by Angela Petrelli's side.


	11. Savior in Blue

AN: Written for "colors" for heroes contest but ended up not entering it. Peter, Monica.

Savior in Blue

"Shoot," she muttered. She almost got him. He didn't expect _St. Joan_ to know who he was and fight back.

_He isn't gonna get my brain,_ she thought to herself. She heard sirens close by, which was no doubt the reason for his quick departure.

Her head throbbed wildly, and he did get in a few crushing moves on her. No Bruce Lee movie could prepare her for his telekinesis.

She heard footsteps behind her and tried to stay sharp. If it was him again, she'd be ready. Though, she was fooling herself as her vision began to blur.

"Miss, are you okay?" It wasn't him. It was the kindest voice she'd ever heard. Then, when she turned around, the last thing she saw was a rush of blue before she passed out.

--

"You have some guts going up against Sylar." The voice was still here. She groaned and tried to sit up, but strong hands directed her back down.

"Hey, take it easy. You're hurt."

"Where am I?" she asked.

"You're in the back of my ambulance. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone about your identity." There was light humor in his voice. She found the mask that covered her face and felt a wave of embarrassment when she felt it stretched around her neck.

"Great," she snorted.

"Don't worry; I'll keep your secret safe. Anyway, I'm Peter," he said, and she finally looked into the face of her savior. He was light-skinned and had the kindest eyes. A pretty boy, the type she'd often fell for.

"Awesome," she said perkily. "Now I have to be on my way. That monster's out there, and I have people to protect."

"Calm down," Peter said. "You're not going anywhere right now. There are worse monsters out there than Sylar."

"Who?" She couldn't imagine a worse person than Sylar.

"There's a hunter out there taking special people and turning them into the government. You have to lay low for now." His hands lightly moved her down again onto the ambulance bed.

"What do you think I've been doing out there? Nobody can catch me like this. I'm too quick," she said indignantly, trying to get up again but failing.

"You think wearing black will keep you hidden from the government? You couldn't be more suspicious," he said.

"I can't just sit here! My family needs me!"

"You're much safer with me right now," he said, and she was tempted to believe him. "Do you know what destiny is?"

She looked at him stunned. What kind of crazy question was that? "My friend says my destiny is to not flip burgers and help clean up the streets. Is that what you mean?"

Peter laughed. "Is that also what it means to you?" He stared at her pointedly. His presence was making her feel calm, yet a little awkward.

She nodded.

"Trust me. I'll make sure you'll get back to your family safely."

With his kind voice and trusting eyes, she couldn't help but give in.


	12. The Wrong Brother

AN: Written for the "Freedom" theme at heroes contest on LJ.

Characters: Tracy, Peter, Nathan

Rated: PG

The Wrong Brother

Tracy knew her calculations were flawed. She hated to admit the error, but she'd been in the business long enough, and she was used to getting her way. She'd manipulated lobbyists, and she'd warmed the beds of high profile men. She studied the expressions on their faces, knew instantly when they were lying, and had seen the strongest of them curl into her arms and sob like a baby.

And in her games, she always stayed a few paces ahead of them.

Yet Tracy Strauss never counted on a turn from Nathan Petrelli. She'd handled God fearing types before. There was always a pattern with them. Save the world by doing God's bidding. Save people and become their minister of hope and righteousness through smooth words and miraculous near-death recoveries. Those faith loving politicians wanted a golden staircase to Heaven, and Tracy Strauss would bring them to the first step.

Nathan was good at what he did too. His morality was twisting and teetering between his own definition of justice and the loyalty to his own corrupt family. She was sure when his sense of justice won out in the end that she could bargain his brother for her own freedom.

Despite smooth words and their pasts clinging to their shadows, she was unprepared when Nathan betrayed her. She underestimated him, and it was a mistake that rewarded her with shackles and a scorching prison.

She knew it was too late, but she realized she'd put her trust in the wrong brother. Obviously, her freedom was sound in Peter Petrelli's hands. At first, she thought he was expendable. He didn't have the flair, charm and natural fortitude that Nathan had. He was only a bargaining chip.

But Peter thought decisively on his feet, knew his brother better than she did, and he managed to escape into the night. When they restrained her, she felt regret, and she hated herself for it.

She remembered how Peter ascended into the sky, and that her one ticket to freedom left with him. She could have betrayed Nathan and grabbed onto Peter tightly and flew to safety with him through the chilled air.

The burning hot prison reminded her of the error again, and she willed herself not to cry. She thought of Peter, Nathan's opposition, somewhere out there, probably planning to fight this entire mess. Knowing his determination to undo Nathan's plan gave her hope.

If he'd trusted her before, perhaps he'd trust her again. She'd make sure of it, and when he came to stop Nathan, she'd wisely choose Peter's side.

For now she would have to wait.


	13. Selective

AN: Written for the 'occupation' theme for heroes contest on Livejournal.

Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder

Rating: PG-13

Selective

Mohinder was a highly intelligent doctor, but he had to remind himself that his life was no longer the same. Though he had many degrees and honors to fill up his resume, it did not save him from being hunted like the others with abilities.

He was still a doctor by the basic definition, yet the title did not hinder him from making bad decisions, which usually lead to even worse consequences. One would think being intelligent would inspire better foresight, but in Mohinder's case, his choices were sometimes a bit more selective.

As such choices go; calling upon Sylar whenever Mohinder wanted was not a sane decision. A sane decision would not have led Mohinder here, under Sylar's maniacal grip as he pushed him down over his own dining room table.

Of course, Mohinder _did_ struggle. He stabbed Sylar, he kicked him, and he even spat on him, as juvenile as it was. It only enticed the monster, and Mohinder regretted his unusual habit of cavorting with serial killers – one to be more precise.

"Now, now, Doctor. It was your idea that we meet," Sylar said, and Mohinder blurted out a belligerent response, something lame and unbelievable that only made his assailant laugh.

Mohinder had felt foolish as usual. He'd continue to put up a fight, and though he was no match for Sylar's numerous powers, he knew well enough that Sylar liked the resistance; it got him off, which was the real reason for this encounter.

"You never could stay still," he mused with delight, and truthfully, Mohinder could have stopped struggling minutes ago. He could have given up, for the end result would always be the same.

"Bastard," he gritted through his teeth, and Sylar's one eyebrow rose. It was just another game to him, and Mohinder couldn't argue against it.

The game was Mohinder's choice. The role of the victim was a fraud. Their deal was unspoken – _natural_, as if it was some every day job routine.

Sylar's fingers were no longer static, and Mohinder fought even harder, scratching at Sylar's face, and scoring a hearty punch against him that knocked him off his feet. Sylar's wicked smile slightly faltered, and Mohinder was flat on his back again when telekinesis won over brute strength.

"Just relax already," Sylar said. His voice was poisonous but hidden behind the veneer of a lullaby. It was the tone that always subdued him.

Mohinder could struggle, but there was no point. Sylar's fingers dipped into his clothes and slid them away. His hands were on him, mapping him, deftly remembering all the curves and angles that he'd stored to tactile memory. Sylar watched him in anticipation. Mohinder released a strangled sigh, letting one motion converge into the next.

Sometimes Mohinder made terrible choices, but the end result was usually too alluring to deny.


	14. Water Nymph

AN: Written for fallenmagic on LJ for a drabble request meme.

Pairing: Claire/Alex

Word Count: 400

Rated: R

Water Nymph

"Come on," she says with a heavy breath, and she tempts him with those come-hither green eyes as she swims away.

Alex looks around nervously. Her grandmother's estate is far too rich than he's used to, but when Claire draws him into the pool late that night, he feels his conscience slipping into the dark side when he cannot refuse her.

He'd be a stupid, stupid man if he refused someone like Claire Bennet.

She giggles lightly, and the water moves around him. He grins, and her rebellion is infectious. He glides toward her, feeling the water slide against him naturally. He submerges, and his natural gift kicks in as he begins to breathe. He wraps his arms around her, and above water he can hear her squeal in delight.

When he surfaces, her mouth is on his, and hungrily, he obliges her. Her mouth is so frenetic, her lips are so demanding and coarse, that he forgets to breathe at all, and pulls away from her to speak.

"Is this how you greet all the people you save?" he whispers with a smile. He nibbles on her chin, and she dips her head back into the water.

Claire shakes her head. "No." Her voice is just loud enough for him to hear. "Just you." She pulls herself up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He moves them against the wall of the pool, and even in the cool water her body feels hot against his. Alex's hands snake down her back, holding her hips as her legs fold around him.

"Claire," he says, pulling from her kiss again and swallowing hard as he knows where this will lead. She looks at him with clear, sound eyes and nods.

"Yes," she sighs, and she moves her hands, and he watches her like a slow-moving movie as she unties the strings of her bikini and her breasts come free.

Alex has a stupid moment – one of those times where nice guys start thinking with their right brain. "Are you sure? You're young and…"

She hushes him with a finger to his lips, and he closes his eyes as he feels her hard nipples rub against his chest.

Then, he loses to her spell with her next words. "You're only young once, Alex."

He knows, however, that unlike him, Claire Bennet has all the time in the world.


	15. After Superman Has Fallen

AN: Written for #44 on 100 fairytales on LJ, for the prompt "As much as you can carry".

Characters: Hiro, Ando  
Genre: Angst/General  
Word Count: 402

After Superman Has Fallen

Hiro releases a deep sigh, yet it's still controlled, and he's dreading for the pain to surge up inside his head again. He doesn't feel the pain right now, and he hasn't used his powers since Building 26.

It hurts to scrunch his brow, so instead he turns his face away. Ando keeps checking on him, worrying and fussing that he'll bleed again or worse… his head will explode. Hiro's worried about this too, of course, but he doesn't want to think about it.

He doesn't want to think about anything at the moment.

Ando calls for extra pillows and blankets on the plane, and Hiro reluctantly warms to his friend's concern. He doesn't want to be treated like an invalid. Would Batman treat an ailing Superman in such a way?

But Superman doesn't get sick, he thinks. Though he knows this is wrong. Superman has bled. Superman has fallen. Superman has _died_.

Though like Superman, Hiro hopes to come back from this. He can start over again. Baby Matt gave him his powers back, but there are consequences. Time has punished him, and it's taken away the gifts he once used so superfluously in the past.

And this isn't a video game either where everything is the same after the reset. The playing field is different. His inventory of magic has dwindled.

He closes his eyes, and he feels Ando's warm arm rub against his. Just knowing he's there, ready to stay by his side, gives Hiro some consolation. But he admits to himself, he's scared at where this new path will take him.

It's not a game anymore, he tells himself. It's not a comic book or make-believe. He remembers the worry in Ando's eyes. He doesn't want to frighten his friend, but Hiro doesn't want to give up his destiny so easily.

He feels numbness in his temple and his body screams for sleep. There is an ache that lulls over his brain, reminding him that nothing will be change back after Hiro wakes up. He knows that this is how things are now, but it hurts him to admit that. He can't yet, not even if he's forced to because of his health.

The last thing Hiro wants to do is hang up his cape. Before he falls asleep, Hiro says a silent apology to Ando. He doesn't want his friend to bear the burden of his fears.


	16. She Sees

AN: Written for #11- The girl as helper in the hero's fight for 100_fairytales on LJ.

Characters: Molly, Matt, Mohinder, Sylar

Rating: G

Word Count: 432

She Sees 

The first time she sees them they come in an assortment of colors, blending together like paint and water swirling around each other and trapped above a plugged drain.

Her mother is the first she sees because she is a comfortable beacon in a mass of so many blobs and shapes. She is familiar and warm within a golden white. She feels her close by, her calming color shining in a sea of blurry indigo in the room downstairs.

With her father she sees rich violet, commanding and protective. He enters the house after work, and his color grabs a hold of her senses and brings her under his protective umbrella.

Of course, that's what _used_ to be her parent's colors, and when they died, their colors faded to nothingness, without even a spark of hue left for her to remember them by.

_He_ takes them away from her, with a color so red and horribly fierce she thinks he's set fire to her house.

It isn't too much longer that her hero comes, a shining silver among the dull colors of the people bobbing about. She hides from them all, still feeling the residual red color of the monster seeping underneath her skin.

Matt Parkman pulls her away from that fear. His color outshines anyone she's ever known, even her parents. It's a feeling about him she will never forget.

Then, there's the Mohinder Suresh who saves her from the virus. His colors are cool and methodical, sometimes shining an uncertain green. When he's near, she feels a sense of healing and strong compassion. She only wishes he could see that in himself.

Together they make a comfortable family, different from her first family, but bringing her under a contained sanctuary away from monsters and away from the red.

Molly Walker steps off the plane in LaGuardia Airport, and she spots the colors in the sunset. She turns around and feels on the protective silver of Matt Parkman waiting for her, with three other people she's never met. She frowns when Mohinder appears absent, and she knows by the look in Matt's face that something is wrong.

The sanctuary is disrupted, and like always before, the colors she keeps to memory never stay the same. The people with him pick up her bags, and Matt puts and arm around her and she can feel him touching her mind.

There's an undercurrent of tension in the air. She's not home because it's safe now; she's home because she's needed in their fight to wander through the ocean of swirling hues once again.


	17. The Smile in the Water

AN: Written for the "Sound" challenge at heroes_contest on LJ.

Characters: Tracy

Word Count: 322

Rating: PG

The Smile in the Water

The last thing they hear is the trickle of the first loose drop of water – the sliding stream from the overflowing sink to the floor.

_It's just water._ They move to call the plumber. They check to see if the toilet is backed up, or if in a dense moment, they left on the shower. Sometimes they meditate to the recorded sounds of a running river, and they miss her completely as she sneaks up from behind.

She slinks like a snake across the wooden floor. She feels different in this form, amorphous but one with a cosmic liquid force only some dream about experiencing.

She can feel the humidity in the room. Her presence here has just increased it. She starts to soak into the pores of the wooden floor. She can almost taste the oak and poly fibers that formed the panels.

She bubbles happily; she can't smile or show her elation in the human way. Not right now.

He's sitting in his chair, and the TV is blasting. He doesn't even hear the water. This one's name is Jake, and she remembers him not so fondly. He's the one that turned up the heat in her cell just a little more and would run a finger through the sweat on her face.

This pig that dared touch her.

He jumps when he feels her trickle over his arm. That is just an extension of her self; she wants him to turn around and look into her eyes. He tries to scream but she quickly drowns his voice. He stumbles backward, and his eyes widen as she slips into her solid form.

Like a click, a snap of a fallen icicle, he recognizes her. She smiles and feels the spice of revenge coat her tongue.

Tracy Strauss is the last woman he sees before he dies. The rushing water is the last thing he tastes.


	18. Viceroy

AN: Written for the "Take" theme at heroes_contest.

Viceroy

Angela tells herself to take a deep breath. "It'll be okay." She repeats the mantra, willing herself to believe it. She puts on smiles that tug the muscles in her face too far, feeling so fake and constricted that she's ready to break.

She fears sleep. She doesn't want to see the future, so she doesn't dream. She tries to believe that she has this under control; with Matt Parkman and Noah Bennet's help, they can control the monster that lives inside the shell of a man with her son's shape.

Angela can do this. She gets used to the heavy ache of caffeine and the long sleepless nights. She overloads herself with book clubs, social gatherings and volunteer work so she can't stop even a moment to think. She hides the evidence when Nathan displays his powers, and when he looks at her questioningly, she acts oblivious and tells him not to worry.

She pushes down revulsion when he kisses her on the cheek and embraces her, lovingly like a son should.

_This is not my boy._

The tears come anyway; she can control everything else but that. She no longer has the power to control her heart, so she goes to bed early at night and locks her door. Angela sobs through the evening to early morning, muffled under the covers and pillows as she mourns her son's death. She shuts her eyes tightly and tucks her hands under her body so she cannot see the blood.

The next morning she wakes up and Nathan smiles at her when breakfast is served. She hides her shaking hand under the table and smiles back.

She holds back a sob as he calls her Ma, and she reminds herself. Angela takes a deep breath.

She just has to get through another day.


	19. Renewal

AN: Written for the "Regret" challenge at sylelle_100 on LJ.

Pairing: Gabriel/Elle

Spoilers: "I Am Become Death"

Rating: PG

Word Count: 100

Renewal

It's not that he doesn't have the strength. He has more than he needs, but the weight of regret immobilizes him, yet Gabriel promises to redeem himself. His promises are not for his benefit alone. Without his son, without the woman who once accepted him and gave him such a gift, he'd still be out there, killing people.

He looks into Noah's eyes, and he sees her. His heart still aches in Elle's absence, but he wants his promises to mean something tangible. Noah is living proof that someone once believed in him enough to give him this second chance.


	20. Beyond Dreams

AN: Written for the "Dreams" challenge at heroes contest on LJ.

Rating: PG

Characters: Niki Sanders, Micah Sanders, Jessica

Word Count: 287

Beyond Dreams

Dreams – that's what they had to be, but Niki knows she's only fooling herself. She doesn't want to admit it.

In the back of her mind she hears a cackle, a threat, and the sound of a satisfied sigh. She clenches her teeth and opens her eyes and dreads the morning. Will there be blood on her hands? Will she wake up in an unknown place, and will Micah wake up alone and wonder where his mother is?

Blocks of her memory are gone. She's not sleeping – not dreaming; Niki only wishes it were that simple, that memory is that easy to transform.

Her head hurts, her thighs ache, her arms burn, and on every morning like the others, she wonders what the other one has done in her body. Has she killed anyone? Has she betrayed her husband and son again?

Niki knows there's a monster inside her. She's not ready to take the blame yet for creating her, so she blames her father.

_Yes – it's all his fault. If he'd been a better dad. If Jessica hadn't died…_

She cries and lurches forward from her sleep. A soft touch is shaking her shoulder. Her son looks up at her concerned, and Niki hates how messy she appears – so unlike how a strong mother should behave.

"Mom, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?" Micah asks quietly. Immediately, Niki looks at her empty hands and slumps back in relief.

"Yeah, sweetie, but it's okay now. It was only a nightmare," she says reassuringly, but she's just deluding herself again.

She may have escaped the night unscathed this time, but Niki Sanders knows that as long as Jessica controls her, this nightmare will never end.


	21. Giving in to the Signs

AN: Written for the picture prompt challenge at Heroes Contest on LJ.

Pairing: Peter/Emma

Spoilers: "Hysterical Blindness" S4

Rated: G

Giving in to the Signs

Was she going crazy? Emma didn't believe it, but she couldn't deny that colors were appearing to her along with every unheard sound.

Why were these colors changing her life? She didn't even know if she wanted to see them, no matter how beautiful they were. They were _complicated_, and the more they appeared, the more her life changed in directions she didn't want it to go.

Emma would have to give up some things in her life. She'd have to face some hard truths. She'd have to move on, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for that.

She dashed toward her office and rubbed her forehead. Unable to completely focus, she accidentally bumped into someone, and if she could hear, she'd bet they were apologizing. She avoided eye contact as usual, pulling away as she tripped over something else: a table full of snacks on the side of the hallway.

Suddenly, a bowl of popcorn crashed onto the floor, emitting a red light. Emma froze, and more colors quickly followed with yellow and orange swirling around in the corner of her eye. She turned to the face of an upset child inside the children's ward, who was obviously shaken by the noise.

Emma looked at him sympathetically, signing that she was sorry as well as mouthing the words. Immediately, she bent over the mess, but someone else was already cleaning it up, someone she recognized. She gasped. Why was she always running into this guy?

"It's okay." She watched his lips, and he swept up the rest of the fragments into a dust pan. She felt vulnerable again, and as he kept glancing at her, she felt tightness within her chest. She hadn't felt like that since…

Emma shut her eyes and ignored her quickening pulse when she realized why she was so afraid. The more she kept running into him – the dark-haired paramedic named Peter – the more she felt the urgency to open up to him. But why?

Because he saw the lights and colors too?

The two of them stood up, and a nurse strode by and brought a new popcorn bowl to the table. Emma looked at Peter, who wasn't jabbering at her like before. Instead, he stared back at her, virtually speechless.

When she was about to run back into the file room, she saw him step in front of her, and she read a 'wait' come from his lips.

"Are you sure you don't want to have lunch?" She watched as he tried again. Did he really want to help her or was it something else?

Emma sighed, and she wondered if she should just give into him. Instead, she braved looking into his eyes. She didn't know what she'd find there, but she saw something she didn't expect.

Inside them she saw his desire – not just for the hope to be with her, but also for the chance to save her.


	22. Mr Kitty

AN: Written for the "Halloween" theme at sylelle_100 on LJ.

Pairing: Elle/Sylar

Spoilers: Season 1

Rating: PG

Word Count: 100

Mr. Kitty

This woman is insane.

How can she even look at him after all she's done to him? Maybe it's easy for her because he's drugged and strapped to a table.

"You like it?" she asks as she twirls around, immensely proud of her costume of a playboy bunny.

"I have a present for you." She whistles cheerfully and braves coming into his prison. He struggles somewhat, but he knows it's futile with the drugs.

Elle pulls out a headband with cat ears, and Sylar groans unhappily when she puts it on his head.

"There!" She giggles. "Happy Halloween, my kitten."


	23. Something Good

AN: Written for sylelle_100 challenge:

"_I always thought that if none of your family or friends knew you were dead, then it's like not really being dead. People can invent the best and the worst for you._" - Celine, from the film Before Sunrise

Pairing: Sylar/Elle

Word Count: 100

Spoilers/Universe: AU Season 4.

Genre: Drama

* * *

Something Good

_Everyone thinks I'm dead._ Elle muses and sits inside her desert hideout. She strokes her belly and waits for him. The baby's growing fast.

He returns at dusk a few months later, but it's nothing unusual.

"I'm back." He looks ragged and annoyed, but she's glad he's alive. "I had some issues with the Petrellis."

He goes straight to her belly, touching, before he meets her eyes. "Your hiding is over; I've found us a home."

"Where?" she asks, and he's already packing her things.

"A carnival. With family," he answers, and Elle notices something's different about him – something good.


	24. This Time

AN: Written for the "Hurt" theme on sylelle_100. Pairing: Sylar/Elle, Season 3 spoilers.

This Time

It had been awhile, but Sylar noticed the distinction.

His hands were made for exploring, for dismantling – _for murder_. His fingers flexed into a fist, anxious, yet not for blood. Right now he didn't want to hurt anyone.

Elle sighed and rocked beneath him. A deep breath passed through his own lips, and his eyes closed as kisses trailed over the skin on his chin. He moved his hands around her, searching for softness.

She moaned underneath him, and she stared into his eyes. He pulled her closer, and this time, he decided to do something different.

Sylar was gentle.


	25. Growing Pains

AN: Written for the "accident" theme at sylelle_100 on Livejournal.

Characters: Gabriel Gray, Noah Jr.

Spoilers: "I am Become Death", Season 3

Word Count: 100

Growing Pains

Gabriel bends over their beloved pet as his son wails beside him. Blood flows and flesh hangs loose from the top of the dog's head, and Gabriel notices the familiarity.

"It was an accident," Noah cries. "I just wanted to _see_."

Gabriel sighs heavily, but he smiles at Noah, who looks up at him anxiously and waits for punishment.

Instead, he ruffles his hair and soothes his cries. He chides him fairly, and he finds solace that he's here for Noah as his power develops.

Unlike his own father, he will make sure his son won't turn into a monster.


	26. Infirmity

AN: Written for the "impotent" theme at sylelle_100 on LJ. Pairing: Sylar/Elle. Word Count: 100. Season 4 spoilers.

Infirmity

No matter how many times he licked his lips, his mouth still felt dry. He was always thirsty, searching for something he lost within the sands of an arid life.

Sylar could touch the lips of other women, but it would still leave him by himself, full of fear – the time traveler's revelation ringing in his ears.

They were all faceless. Their warmth meant nothing, and it left him curious.

Guilt, he decided. He wouldn't be alone now if he spared her, _forgave_ her.

It was because he still loved her that his heart remained motionless, and ever on hold.


	27. Cry Within a Kiss

AN: Written for the drabble challenge #20 at heroes contest on livejournal.

Pairing: Peter/Lydia

Word Count: 500

Rating: PG

Cry Within a Kiss

He doesn't even recall falling asleep, but Peter wakes up to the thick aroma of incense. He blinks the sleep away from his eyes, and he finds himself somewhere different. His surroundings seem exotic yet earthy, adorned with warm hued draperies and strings of golden beads showering over him. A body stirs next to him, bringing him starkly out of his psychedelic haze.

A tattooed woman comes out of the mist, yet it feels like she's been beside his body the entire time. She leans into him, crossing lines and invading his personal space. In this dream, Peter feels nothing sacred or chaste. This woman defines the desire in men's hearts and embodies the many faces in women's souls.

He looks into her eyes as she stares at him, and he sees frightened desperation. Her hands roam over his body, and she relaxes him. She has a power – somewhat like his, but hers manifests much more personally.

"Peter Petrelli, we need your help," she says, and her husky voice is urgent yet hypnotic.

"Who—who are you?" Suddenly, he recalls something. He's heard her voice before. So many times he's felt her touch – beyond the physical traces of her fingers – a constant pull at the synapses in his mind. "Are you the one calling to me?"

"You'll meet me soon enough." Her body covers his, and he stiffens. Her mouth is trailing over his chin and hovering above his lips. He thinks he shouldn't feel so aroused, not when this woman pleads for his aid so desperately. "It's Samuel. You need to stop him."

His eyes widen at the name, and he furrows his brow. "Samuel." He looks into the woman's face, and he grabs her hands off him. He thinks of Emma, his visions, and Sylar's sickening smile in his dreams. "Tell me everything you know about him. How do I stop him?"

Her hands slide down his forearm and his eyes follow. The compass tattoo spins wildly as it usually does. The woman moves closer, straddling him and wrapping her legs tightly around him. Peter groans inwardly at the rising heat pressed between them. She caresses his tattoo softly and it stops. "I will point the way." Her voice suddenly sounds ethereal, as if it's fading. She leans into him closer, and he stills – satiated and open – as her mouth covers his.

Then, Peter feels everything surge through him. He sees Samuel through her eyes. He feels the danger through his bones. He smells blood and dirt so strongly it feels like his face is pressed against the grave. He buckles under the weight of the world, and he struggles, gasping for breath.

He screams, jumping awake in his cold bed, damp with sweat. The tattooed lady's scent and power are still burning on his lips, but his soul feels the chill.

Peter will not deny his duty to save people by stopping Samuel; it's the promise he makes through a kiss to the woman in his dreams.

END


	28. Living With Ghosts

AN: Written for the "consequence" prompt at sylelle_100. Pairing: Sylar/Elle. Spoilers: Season 4. Word Count: 100.

  
Living with Ghosts

In his mind, this purgatory, Sylar confronted his demons, apologizing to his victims for all his sins.

Yet, there was one who would never forgive him. She haunted him, and some nights he'd find her asleep next to him, moaning and curling a warm arm around him.

Then, she would rake her nails across his chest - _bloody_ - as he screamed.

"You killed me," and he could never repent enough. She would never believe him, and he would never let her go.

This was his penance for killing the woman he loved, keeping her forever carved inside his heart.


	29. Behind Suspicions

AN: Written for the "Tangle" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Pairing: Peter/Sylar. Word Count: 300. Rated PG. Season 4 finale spoilers.

Behind Suspicions

He stole his brother's life, and Peter feared that someday Sylar would also steal his.

The best thing, Peter thought, would be to disappear. Sylar wouldn't let him, though, not with his shiny bleached conscience.

He simply insisted on becoming a part of Peter's life.

--

Peter knocked on Sylar's door one morning, unsure as to why he came, but he wanted to at least glower at him all the same.

Inside he found Emma having tea with him, and Sylar opened up the door with a bright grin and an impromptu invitation. Emma stood up with a somewhat guilty expression, but Sylar played it off.

"I hope you don't mind," he said softly. It sounded so unlike him, but then again, Sylar had been sounding like that since they were both trapped within his head.

"Peter, Sylar called me …" Peter didn't hear the rest as she explained. He looked at Sylar suspiciously, who tilted his head with modesty to match his ever-growing grin.

Peter wanted to warn Emma right there and tell her everything about Sylar's past and the horrible things he'd done, but he couldn't. It would probably backfire, and Emma would call him a jealous jerk.

--

Peter returned later that rainy night to Sylar's apartment and viciously banged on his door. Through floppy moist hair, Peter snarled at the man before he could inquire about his distress.

"What do you want from me?" Peter yelled with desperation and rage.

Sylar sighed, and he shook his head and watched Peter with softness in his eyes. Though creepy, his affection became apparent. He said nothing but reached out his hand to push back the tangled mass of wet hair from Peter's eyes.

Stunned, Peter choked on a breath before Sylar pulled him inside, silencing his doubts forever.


	30. Healing

AN: Written for the "I've been summoned" theme at heroes_contest on Livejournal. Pairing: Peter/Emma. Rating: G. Word Count: 470. This will not be continued.

Healing

Emma hisses. She relaxes when the antiseptic seeps into the scabs on her hands, and she covers them up with clean bandages. For a moment, she stares at her wounds and remembers how she got them. She shudders when she thinks of what she almost did, and if it weren't for Peter and his friend, she really could have been responsible for all of those people's lives.

Her powers are both wonderful and dangerous. She knows that now. She thinks she should be scared like she was when she first discovered them, but Emma is surprisingly calm. She doesn't feel like she has to deal with them by herself anymore, and she's glad she can call Peter if her powers make her scared or unsure.

He's told her before that her powers could evolve; she could have facets to her abilities that she's never imagined before. It awes her and makes her cautious.

She just doesn't know if she can pick up a cello again, or any instrument for that matter. She admits that sometimes she's tempted. Drawing people toward her like a siren is extraordinary, and she fantasizes with mild embarrassment at the possibilities of exploring such a gift.

She's finishing up dinner one night in her apartment alone, and idly she thinks of Peter. On impulse, Emma taps lightly on her empty wineglass with a fork. She watches as the sound turns into bright purple and pink waves, and she continues to tap, watching and wishing for Peter to come.

She waits. It's a half hour before he shows up wearing his paramedic uniform, and he seems winded and confused, but when he looks into her eyes, he relaxes as he understands.

"You used your power again," he says happily when she reads his lips. He rewards her with his trademark, tilted smile, and his eyes fall on the method that she summoned him.

"I didn't use the cello," she says, and Emma looks at her hands and admits, "I don't think I can again."

"Well," he says, and he steps over to her in the kitchen, and he puts his hand lightly over hers, making sure he doesn't irritate her healing wounds. She returns his smile, and Emma doesn't mind the way Peter's hand presses warmly over hers. He picks up the fork she used, and he pings her glass lightly as a wave of color floats around them. "I see you've proved that you can use other things to make music."

His observation delights her. She's been so upset about what happened she hasn't realized it yet; that her powers can grow just fine without Samuel's cello. Peter's assurance only makes it more real to her, and for the first time since the plight with the carnival, Emma starts to feel more hopeful about the future of her abilities.

END


	31. I'm Sorry, Alice

AN: Written for my A-Z meme for the prompt "I – Angela (or Sylar or Nathan)" on Livejournal. Word Count: 309. Rated: G. Season 3 and 4 spoilers.

I'm Sorry, Alice

_I'm sorry, Alice. I could not steal you socks today. _Angela cries silently as she tries to distract herself in idle thoughts of her sister, still lost, still somewhere in the desert beyond her reach.

_I'm sorry. I was burying my son today. Your nephew, _she thinks, holding back a choking sob. She takes a deep breath and composes herself. Her hands fidget in her lap, smoothing out her black dress. She looks at her worn fingers. What a shame this is, a mother outliving the life of her son.

She dares not stare at the face of her other son, still fuming, still mourning - like her, and wishing for better days of the past when they were all a family and everyone was still alive and happy.

Angela thinks of Alice again. Maybe she can reach her after this, and in the midst of her sorrow for Nathan, she feels a glimmer of hope.

They hand her the folded flag, and she bows her head down. The funeral continues on around her, the sights and sounds, the order and formality. The jets storm overhead in an open blue sky, and like everyone else, she cranes her neck to watch them.

Angela closes her eyes and remembers Nathan. She remembers his smile, and it becomes even more difficult to release the remnants of her broken family.

_Alice, I promise, _she thinks, hearing the quiver in her own mental voice._ I promise to find you, to make this family whole again._ She braves a look at Peter, and then to Claire. This is the last thing she can do for redemption. She's messed up everything until now, but she can still change. There isn't much left, but it's enough. Peter, Claire, and even Alice - they're enough for her.

Angela seems to think it's what Nathan may have wanted.


	32. Possession

AN: Written for the "Seven Deadly Sins" theme at heroes_contest on Livejournal. Pairing: one-sided Doyle/Meredith. Season 3 spoilers. Rated PG. Word Count: 341.

Possession

Maybe it was wrong, but he wanted her and had to have her. He felt that he _deserved _her. It had been fate the moment their eyes had met.

Nothing else about his miserable life seemed to matter. He didn't care about the rules, or any type of decorum. They didn't concern him, and they never will. He would be in control, just as always, and there was no way that Meredith Gordon would ever deny him.

He doubted she'd even try (not that much anyway). They were made for each other; they had similar tastes, similar paths. She walked into his life like she was meant to, and he'd make sure she'd never leave. He felt that someday soon she'd never want to.

The first time he held her with his power, she'd been surprised, frightened even, but he found her fear and disgust irrelevant. She would understand him, eventually. Even if he had to make her. Even if it took him years and years. To him it would feel like minutes. Teaching her was more than half of the fun.

It was harder every time to control her; naturally, she was feisty, but Doyle liked that and he wouldn't be so interested in her if she was just like another one of his marionettes, lifeless and easy to move and mold. Meredith was hot-headed, independent, and sometimes Doyle felt she didn't know what was best for her. She was confused, but he could show her.

He could change all of that, and then she'd smile at him. She kiss him and let him touch her smooth golden skin. She'd close her eyes and sigh as he'd weave his fingers in her soft hair.

Then, someday, he wouldn't have to use his ability on her ever again. She'd learn, and he would condition her like the partner she was meant to be, perfectly shaped just for him.

But more than anything, she'd _love _him, and having to force her to accept him was only a minor setback - for now.


	33. Not Her Blood

AN: For my 13_fears claim: "Hemophobia; Fear of Blood" on Livejournal. Rating: PG. Spoilers: Season 4. Pairing: Claire/Gretchen.

* * *

Not Her Blood

It wasn't the first time Claire saw blood, but it startled her regardless, considering what had happened.

"What's the matter?" They stopped, and Gretchen wiped the blood dripping down her nose. At first, she looked at it oddly as if she hadn't felt it there yet. "Oh," she said, and Claire put a hand on her arm, coming closer to inspect the wound. "I'm fine, don't worry." She waved it off, but Claire was ready to give up and take Gretchen back home.

Just why did Gretchen follow her onto the streets anyway? Claire was still being hunted, more so now by vigilante groups who wanted to turn her into the government, so why didn't Gretchen realize how much danger she'd be in as well?

"Maybe you should see a doctor," Claire suggested, but her friend only rolled her eyes.

"It was a minor scuffle, but we're fine now. I'm fine, and I'm not going to give up helping you just because of a dumb nosebleed," Gretchen said gruffly, pulling Claire along by her sleeve while they continued walking through back alleys and into the shadows of the city streets.

"Still," Claire said, pouting at her as she hesitated, and Gretchen tilted her head and gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay, now let's go before those thugs come back for you," she said, and despite the nosebleed, Gretchen was still energetic, ready to sprint ahead and continue their escape. "You act like you've never seen blood before. You, a girl that bleeds everywhere and all the time as if it were nothing."

Claire sighed and she started to walk ahead, feeling almost foolish for worrying about Gretchen's safety. No matter what, she couldn't shake the worry. She hated the idea let alone the likelihood of Gretchen getting hurt.

"I know. After all, I'm the one who can't die," she said pointedly, leveling with her friend's eyes. "But it's different when blood is spilled and it isn't mine."


	34. Skin of Lies

AN: Written for my A-Z meme on Livejournal for "N - Need". Pairing: Sylar!Nathan/Peter. Spoilers for "The Wall". Rated PG with some incest implications. Word Count: 469.

Skin of Lies

Stuck behind this wall, there were little moments of memory that Peter hated.

When Sylar preferred to give him space, Peter would feel the instant solitude, and subsequently, his lonely thoughts seem to resurrect Nathan's ghost, and he'd make himself half-crazy believing he was hearing his brother's voice.

Only he wasn't. He was _craving_ it - craving _him_, and in a way, being stuck in this nightmare seemed to expose him and make him vulnerable for the skeletons and demons born from his darker nature, the nature he'd quelled and locked away.

After the last time (Peter couldn't remember how many times exactly) that he felt this need for his brother - just to see him once, so Peter decided to he needed to do something about it. And he needed help.

Sylar was unexpectedly searching for him as well within the vacant city of Sylar's mind. Peter approached him, hands deep in his pockets, and his brow knitted together.

"Something on your mind?" Sylar asked, and Peter hated the cockiness in his voice. In fact, Peter hated Sylar's voice altogether, and he hated hearing it grate at his nerves every minute of these endless days.

More than anything, Peter hated Sylar, but he hated himself even more now after what he was about to ask.

"Can you become Nathan again?" It was a blunt request. Sylar's expression was already poised to be amused.

"Of course, but Peter, do you really want that? I don't believe that's wise," Sylar asked. What was he; Peter's conscience now?

"Does it really matter to _you_?" Peter shot back hotly.

Sylar tilted his head to the side, calm and controlled as ever. "No, but you know I'll be acting."

"Act anyway you want," Peter said. "Just do it."

"And if I do? What's in it for me?"

Peter laughed loudly, and it echoed throughout the false world. He shook his head and looked at Sylar accusingly. "You're so like that, aren't you?"

"Would you prefer I was someone else?"

A heavy pause, and Peter was closing the distance between them. He gripped Sylar's biceps hard - desperately - and he leaned his head against Sylar's shoulder. He almost sobbed. "Yes."

Peter felt the material change; he froze before taking an anxious look.

"Hello, Pete." His brother grinned at him - smug and confident - the way Peter remembered him; the way Peter loved him. Nathan stood still, waiting for Peter's next move until he pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I've missed you," Peter cried, the tears flowing onto Nathan's clothes. Peter held him close, never wanting to let go - never wanting to open his eyes and see someone other than Nathan standing before him.

And thus, for a moment, Peter let himself believe. He allowed himself to love a blatant lie.


	35. Things That Never Were

AN: Written for the "escape" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Pairing: Edgar/Lydia. Season 4 spoilers. Rating: PG. Word Count limit: 300.

Things That Never Were

Edgar holds her lifeless body in his arms. He allows himself to cry, and as the tears escape, he doesn't care who among the Carnival is watching. His family sympathizes, and they must know; he couldn't have wanted this, and he couldn't have wanted Joseph's death either.

Lydia's blood is all over him, but he doesn't care, and he can't even share in her last living moment. For such a woman so loving and energetic, it's unnatural that her body feels so lifeless against him, and he'll forever regret that he arrived too late to save her – to hold her and hear her last dying words.

It's a sick tragedy, and he hates knowing that now that she's dead, he'll be missing out on finally being with her, and they'll never have the happiness they've always talked about – even dreamed about.

Edgar's angry and wants to lash out. _Noah Bennet_, he thinks furiously.

But no, he sees it in Samuel's eyes. Lydia's warned Edgar before; it's been always _him_.

Edgar is sure that Samuel is involved in this somehow, and as he feels his knives itch at his sides, Edgar vows to do something about Samuel and his lies – and to bring Lydia the justice she deserves.


	36. A Stitch in Time

AN: Written for the "sense" theme at heroes_contest on Livejournal. Pairing: Hiro/Claire, Season 4. Word Count: 500.

A Stitch in Time

Like clockwork, Claire senses his presence immediately. She doesn't even notice the chill of the air on top of the Ferris wheel. Other times, she _has_ - the sense of déjà vu immediately passing as she turns around.

"I thought you would stop me," she says, and she wonders, knowing his power, that she must have said this a million times by now.

"Think about what you're doing, Claire," he says in that noticeable accented voice. It's her turn to convince him she's doing the right thing. The cameras are on her, and she hasn't a second to spare. In other times, she imagines herself distracting him, not arguing or delaying the inevitable. Hiro watches her with regret and anxiety.

She has an idle thought - he looks different somehow. His hair longer, his clothes darker - he's carrying a sword.

_How far in future are you from, Hiro?_ She thinks.

"You know I have to," she says, meeting his eyes with determination.

He grabs her hand. She doesn't expect his touch or his strength.

"I have to stop you, for the future," he says.

"Even if you blink us away, the cameras will still see something," Claire notes. Hiro stares at her, unwavering.

"I know," he says. "I've seen that future too. It's better than the one you'll start."

"How bad can it be?" she asks, her foot slipping. Hiro's grip tightens. One more step and she'll fall, but Hiro is still holding onto her, his eyes pleading.

"Please, Claire, think about this. Think about all of _us_," Hiro says. "People will die; people will panic."

"People die all the time," she says scornfully, "But I _can't_ - and they need to know it." Claire slips her arm out of his grip and takes his hand, squeezing affectionately.

"You'll regret this. In the future, you'll beg me to stop you in the past," he says. He leans forward, and she's surprised when he rests his forehead tenderly against hers. He closes his eyes hard, as if he's trying to purge all the images of_ his_ past from his mind. He exhales softly. "I hold you, Claire, and I tell you, I _can't_ do it. I can't change the past anymore, but I - can't refuse _you_."

Claire pauses. The future - _his future_ - intrigues her, but she's not frightened. She doesn't even know if it will even end up that way. _Destiny isn't set in stone_, she thinks, assured that she's said this before.

She pulls away from Hiro's hand, and he gasps as she holds her arms up and slips. She's already falling.

Hiro yells, but she can't make out what he's saying, but it seems like maybe - in some different future - she already knows his words. "Remember, Claire, this is the future you really wanted!"

Claire hits the ground, cameras flashing, bones breaking, muscles and skin contorting. She lumbers on her wobbly feet and glances skyward. She just knows that she'll see Hiro again.


	37. We're Not Heroes

AN: Written for my Ostara meme request at Livejournal. Pairing: Claire/Elle, Season 3 divergence. Rated PG. Word Count: 376.

* * *

We're Not Heroes

As usual, Elle made a loud, annoying sucking sound on her Slusho, and when Claire looked up archly, Elle was staring a hole into her, trying to get her attention.

"Do you think this should count as our anniversary?" Elle asked, poking at her fries. Claire made a face over her cheeseburger and rolled her eyes. She didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"Gees, you sound like Sylar. He feels like every time we bump into each other it's because it's fate or something," Claire droned. "It's totally lame."

Elle threw a burnt fry at her and frowned. "We've been together for over a _year_," she enunciated.

"Don't you mean, the Company kicked you out, you had nowhere else to go, and I felt sorry for you and took you in?" Claire said, tilting her head. Elle pouted, feeling slighted. She reached over, grabbed Claire's wrists, and deftly rewarded her with an electric charge.

Claire started, but composed herself quickly and gave Elle a bored look.

"Shame on you. That's not how a sidekick should talk," Elle said, slurping on her drink again. She looked at Claire warningly, but Claire met her challenge with another daring stare.

"I'm not your sidekick; if anything you're _mine_. I can't die, remember? I'm way more powerful," Claire said. "Besides, I hate you too much to team up with you. I don't even like shopping with you."

"But we live together and occasionally you sleep with me," Elle said bluntly, frowning at her empty Slusho.

Claire's lips thinned when Elle mentioned that last part. "I really hate you sometimes."

Elle smirked wickedly, preening. "You love me, Pom-Pom. Don't deny it." She gobbled a fry. "Okay, if we're not hero and sidekick then...arch enemies?" Claire met Elle's devilish grin. She was flirting, that was it. And Claire _hated_that it was working.

"Arch enemies don't eat cheeseburgers together and sleep with each other," Claire pointed out, and Elle laughed evilly - you know, that evil laugh she did when she just barbecued someone for fun. Claire knew it all too well.

Elle's eyes glittered and her tone turned to mocking. "Oh, Claire-bear, you really don't know anything about the heroes, do you?"

Claire hated Elle even more when she was right.


	38. Reprise

AN: Written for the "renegade" theme for heroes_contest at Livejournal. Post Season 4. Word Count: 400. Characters: Micah, Monica. Genfic. 

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Reprise

Ever since the famous Claire Bennet jumped off a Ferris wheel and healed miraculously on live TV, people like them were being hunted _again_. Chaos erupted throughout the world as the footage went viral, and as special people surfaced, whether good or criminal, the government took action.

New Orleans had seen chaos before, and maybe Monica might have liked the government to ignore them as they did in Katrina, but it wasn't so. New Orleans was crawling with Feds, looking for people just like her.

St. Joan, the savior of the city, the hero in black. They considered her a blessing once, but the notion St. Joan could be one of _them_, well, she was living the Rebellion all over again.

Micah started it up again, and even though they were lived as renegades, she thought he was right. The best option was for others like them to network.

They already had friends they still contacted: Sparrow, West, Alex, and even Claude and Molly in the UK.

"Just spread the word, Micah," Monica said, as they took refuge in their base. Micah had found an abandoned strip mall that hadn't been occupied since the flood. He'd quickly accumulated all his electronics, and Monica looked around, awed by the snake's nest of wires and computers that coiled around him. He nodded at her, his fingers not even moving on the keyboard as he touched the mouse and let his powers do the rest.

"I've contacted all I can," he said, hesitating. "Did you want me to contact Claire?"

Monica bit her lip. Oh, she could just punch that girl, and if she ever met her, she would. What was she thinking, doing something selfish like that? Monica sighed. Was Claire a friend or foe? She _was_ the one who started this.

"Hold off on her for now," Monica told him. Micah opened his eyes and met her stare. He frowned. "We'll call her if we need her."

"But..." Micah certainly knew Monica's feelings on Claire, and he'd heard her constant tirades about how everything, all the anarchy, was Claire's fault. Still, he didn't protest too much. "Okay."

"We'll only contact people we can trust," Monica said, crossing her arms and staring at the computer screen. "Maybe Claire will realize her mistake when all hell breaks loose, and she finds herself all alone."


	39. It's Always the Quiet Ones

AN: Written for the "&%#!#" prompt at gen_drabble on Livejournal. Rated PG. Word Count: 100. Characters: Claire, Sandra, Lyle, Noah. Season 2. 

* * *

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Noah appeared calm among the tension in their family, glancing back and forth between his unhappy wife and daughter.

"But Dad..." Claire started.

"My decision is final; no cheer-leading or boys," he warned.

She rolled her eyes at him and took a sip of her water, but she slammed the glass so hard it shattered, with glass pieces piercing through her skin.

"&%#!#!" her brother cursed, and everyone looked at Lyle with shock.

"You're quiet this entire time and that's what you have to say for yourself, young man?" Noah yelled.

"It's not like anyone listens to me anyway," Lyle huffed.


	40. Caretakers

AN: Written for the "trouble" theme at heroes-contest on Livejournal. Characters: Peter, Sylar, Claire and mention of Nathan. Rated: PG. Post Season 4. Word count: 491.

* * *

Caretakers

Pain dribbled out of him like a leaking faucet, dripping into the pool of his belly and then fading into rippling waves.

Lights flashed around him, and Peter found himself drawn into memory. His surroundings glowed beyond him in blinding sunlight, and he heard Nathan's voice in the right side of his ear. Peter heard himself sobbing as Nathan's hand gripped his small arm.

"You're alright, Pete. It was just a fall. You'll heal," Nathan said reassuring him, and his voice was affectionate yet stern.

Peter's heart ached as the memory faded. They'd gotten in trouble with their father that day, and Peter had fled so fast from the scene that he'd taken a terrible trip over a stump he'd tried to jump. Nathan followed him out, shouting his name and warning him of the obstruction in his path.

His father didn't need to follow them, or punish them. His presence had done well enough to subdue them both.

Nathan had soothed his brother in times like these, like he always had. And now... Peter gripped onto the memory as it started to descend from his mind, sliding from his fingers. He saw a flash; his brother was falling to the ground below, his face changing shape. He was losing him - _had _lost him, and Nathan was no longer here to pick him up when he fell.

But...somehow, Peter didn't feel all that alone. Not really. Not with the painful memory of his brother's death still hovering around in his heart.

His gut retched, and Peter jumped awake, sitting up and doubling over in his own lap. He felt a strain on his throat as he gasped for breath. His hands were gripped into other hands, and he gathered himself, looking around curiously.

"Peter! You're alright." It was Claire's voice. He turned to his right, and he met her wide, relieved eyes. She smiled at him, and he itched to wipe away the tears on her cheek.

His other hand was held fiercely in another grip, and he turned to his left, shocked to see Sylar grinning over him, just as relieved as his niece. His voice was almost delicate, absent of the malice or arrogance that still continued to astound Peter. He nodded to Sylar, still recovering as they both reluctantly loosened their holds - but would not let him go.

Pulled to his feet, Peter examined the phantom wound in his stomach. He remembered going after a thug, and he remembered getting shot.

"That was stupid," Claire told him, but her tone carried more worry than admonishment.

"Thankfully, we healed you in time," Sylar said, and Peter knew he could never begin to thank them. They never expected him to anyway, and they knew he'd probably leap into trouble again.

And he had no doubt that they'd be right there beside him, ready to catch him when he fell, just as his brother had always done before them.


	41. Escaping the Truth

AN: Written for the "truth" challenge at heroes_contest. Pairing: Niki/Peter. Takes place in "Five Years Gone" of season 1. Rated PG-13. 288 words.

* * *

Escaping the Truth

The truth that Peter killed her son bubbles underneath his skin like a raging blister.

He tries unsuccessfully to just forget it, to atone for his sins by taking care of the mother when he could not save the son. (When he could not save any of them, and allowed the use of a different monster's name to defend his own.)

When he finds her, she's pathetic - living off grief as if it were spirits and air, and instead of toiling in his own misery, Peter turns around and finds he can do something useful for her.

He helps her control her demons, as he leaves his neglected - festering away within the dark.

And when she cries out her son's name, Peter feels the sharp pang for a moment, and then distracts her, taking Niki in his arms and pushing her into his bed. He runs his hands, soft yet demanding - up her body, and he whispers soothing promises into her ear as he pushes himself within.

He will never leave her. He will never let her feel the truth (as he feels) so as long as he's around.

And he will never - _ever _let Jessica rise to the surface only to break her all over again.

If he does any good to make up for all his sins, to better himself as his own demands cloy to be revealed, he will love Niki. He will hold her, and he will not release her.

With his sins, he will leave behind his heroics. And when the truth threatens to bring him down, to take her away from him - he will take her into his bed.

Where in there, they both will forget.


	42. Body and Soul

AN: Written for the "spirit" theme at heroes-contest on Livejournal. Characters: Peter, Noah, Claude. Post Season 4. Word Count: 450. Rated PG. Warning: Character death.

Body and Soul

When they found the body, Noah Bennet was immediately notified.

One of his old contacts from Primatech phoned him the moment Interpol identified the former runaway agent, and upon hearing the news, Noah grabbed Peter Petrelli and flew east across the Atlantic Ocean to London.

Claude Reins was never supposed to die like this, not as Noah would had imagined for him. His former partner had been through everything, like wild and dangerous missions where the memories of their partnership had set like a sliver in his skin. Noah remembered Claude falling off a bridge with gunshot wounds, only to survive.

But for him to die like this?

Peter was pensive beside him as they examined his corpse in the coroner's lab at Interpol. Apparently, according to their most recent records, Noah Bennet was the only one who could identify Claude, and the only person besides Peter who knew that he was still alive.

They were the only ones who would _care _that Claude had even died.

Noah's mouth opened a little as he watched Peter put a hand on Claude's cold ghost-white skin, and he followed his line of sight to the man's peaceful face. Claude had never looked so serene to him.

"I think he died in peace," Peter said, but his tone was more hopeful than true. Noah caught the sight of tears glistening in the corners of Peter's eyes.

They fell into a stilled, miserable moment, both awash in their own memories and sadness of their fallen comrade.

"Yeah, they said it was heart attack," Noah said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head. "Something so..."

"Ordinary?" Peter finished for him, meeting Noah's eyes sharply.

Noah nodded, and before Peter could pull away his hand, he gasped. Noah tensed, reading the perplexed expression on Peter's face.

"What?" Noah insisted, and he watched Peter draw up his hand, examining it.

Then, he was gone. "Peter?" Noah called out, more calm than anxious.

Peter's laughter echoed throughout the coroner's room like a joyous phantom. He turned visible again, coming up to Noah in elation.

"It carried over! His power was still active... I can't explain it but I could take it!" Peter said, and his voice turned soft. "Claude can live on in spirit."

Noah raised an eyebrow, and a small smile stretched across his lips. "At least for a little while." Noah knew full well that Peter couldn't store powers anymore, and eventually, he'd have to give up this one for another.

Peter shook his head again. "For a long while," he clarified, turning invisible again. "I'm keeping it as long as I can." His words disappeared into a pause, and then he added, "For Claude."


End file.
